In 1795, the Chapel Royal opened as a place of worship to accommodate the increasing number of visitors to Brighton who were coming as a consequence of the Prince Regent’s patronage. But then George the Prince Regent had stopped attending this once fashionable chapel following his displeasure with a sermon preached on immorality, which may have been a veiled reference by the preacher to the prince’s scandalous relationship with Mrs Fitzherbert - a resident of Steine House, just down the road.

After George’s death in 1830, members of the royal family continued to visit Brighton until 1845, when George’s niece Queen Victoria declared that she would never again visit Brighton because she had found its people to be “very indiscreet and troublesome". However, although its royal visitors had gone, this town's parties would continue - along with every sermon against them.

Brighton is reputedly a somewhat irreligious place. And the numbers attending church services in the city have been in decline over many years. But one should not assume that the institution itself is in equal measures becoming less significant. One should bear in mind, the Church of England (of which the Chapel Royal is a part) is the established church in this country. It is the sole religious body and creed officially endorsed by the state. And England’s monarch is its supreme governor.

In the meanwhile, following a publication of the results of the 2011 Census, Brighton has been declared England’s most godless city. During that census, more than 40% of residents had described themselves as having no religion (compared to the 27% who had made that same declaration during the 2001 census).

In 2021 it was announced that the end of the world as we know it will be happening at some point during the next thirty years. Much of this summer has been cancelled due to those constantly cloudy skies caused by global warming. And many of our pubs remain closed following multiple national lockdowns and the Covid-19 pandemic, which continues to sweep across the world leaving millions dead - though not everyone would have been a regular in their local pub. But (regardless of any sermon preached against their godless hedonism) a plethora of parties has continued across this city: On the beach; in people’s homes; in clubs and in bars; and up and down North Street.

Last month (July 28th) during the BBC’s Moral Maze programme on Radio 4, 'The Morality of Partying' was debated after the question was asked: Is there an intrinsic moral value in revelry? Especially during this pandemic: Some would argue that such moments of human connection are often spontaneous celebrations of the gift of life itself. Yet, many philosophical and religious traditions associate our hedonistic living for the weekend culture (for which Brighton is so famous) with chaos, over-indulgence and a loss of self-control. 

Now, if we turn our backs on this chapel for a moment and focus our attention on the people moving up and down this street, we might notice that some are in a poorly advanced and decaying state of party. Some are drunk, so early in the afternoon. Some are wired and anxious, looking for a drug dealership they can barely afford to patronise. And some are carrying sleeping bags, because a doorway in this street is currently their home.

Just up the hill, outside one shop, someone has pitched a tent. Outside another shop there’s a man wrapped in a coverless white duvet, begging for ‘spare change’. Between other shops and a bank, a Brighton Street Ambassador and a couple of Police Community Support Officers are trying to detain an aggressive looking and possibly intoxicated gentleman, and two police officers in a patrol car (carrying with them the power to arrest) have just arrived. Otherwise, the street is teeming with tourists and shoppers, and those long queues of buses, and the litter of a thousand takeaway meals.

Now, let’s turn again to face this Chapel Royal’s elegant glass doors. They’re locked shut. And, we can see, there’s no one inside. There’s a note on the door directing us to a website for further details. Apparently, this chapel’s only open for a service on Sunday mornings and one on Wednesdays (this morning). The website says

All are welcome to the Chapel Royal, a thriving Christian community at the heart of Brighton’s city centre. Renowned for its warm hospitality, you will find within its doors a place of peace, sanctuary, support and worship.

How do we feel? Some of us feel angry. Locked out. Empty and disconnected from any life of that church. Some of us are poor service workers, obliged to work on Sunday mornings. And some of us are insane. So, mingling with the ‘Christian community’ can be problematic. When well meaning people approach us and we tell them what we’re thinking, they back away as quickly as possible, trying desperately not to appear rude.

And where is God in this street? Someone says they’d seen God at work in a hospital earlier today. He’d been there in the kindness and dedication they’d encountered. Anyone considering a visit to those parts of the cathedral might be interested in one of our hospital chapel tours. In the meanwhile, let’s cross over to the other side of this street and towards Ship Street. This is where we’ll find the former Holy Trinity Church, which is now the Fabrica Gallery. The gallery’s current exhibition is Kiosk by the artist Wolfgang Weileder.

Constructed from redundant Christian church pews it consciously draws on the visual language of Islamic architecture to create a new kind of contemplative space, one that looks for ‘common cultural and spiritual ground’ in our diverse society.

So, here we are in this contemplative space. How do we feel, now? It’s all a bit emotional, isn’t it? Unlike the Chapel Royal at the moment, this place is open to the public.

Further down Ship Street, on the corner of Prince Albert Street is the Friends’ Meeting House, a Quaker establishment, in front of which there’s a lovely garden - 'an oasis of peace' in the bustling old Lanes. It's another contemplative space. 

Then, around this block’s other corner, in Union Street we’ll find the old Union Street Chapel. From the Glorious Revolution of 1688 until its closure, three hundred years later, this chapel had been a place of worship. It’s now a pub called The Font and, unlike the Chapel Royal on this rare sunny afternoon, this place is open to the public. And sometimes, when folk make a pilgrimage to Brighton, it's one of those places where the party begins.